The Death of Love
by Ready-made Prodigy
Summary: The only way I can see a Holmes/Adler relationship working in the new movie. H/W, strong friendship.


_Title__: The Death of Love_

_Summary:__ The only way I can see an Adler/Holmes relationship working in the new movie. H/W, strong friendship._

_Rating:__ PG-13_

_Warning:__ implied character death (offscreen)_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and do not profit, except for in the form of reviews.  
_

_A/N__: This is me putting down crazed, Hollywood romanced and extrapolating from an all too short movie trailer. For those how have read my Adventure in Cold Blood story, be warned, I have made killing Watson into an art._

~*~

"Watson!" Holmes screamed as he saw his friend go down out of the corner of his eye.

The thug took advantage of his distraction and fled, along with the man who had shot at Watson, the man Holmes suspected was really Lord Blackford. Holmes perhaps took one step in pursuit before dashing over to Watson's prone form and dropping down to his knees.

"Holmes, no," Watson croaked, "follow them!"

Holmes didn't waste breath in answering and merely pushed his friend as quickly as he dared behind the cover of some boxes before retrieving his fallen revolver. Aiming first at their retreating backs and then to a pair of barrels hanging from the pulley rigging, Holmes pulled the trigger.

The explosion was massive and threw Holmes back several paces. The pain, however, was momentary and fleeting, nothing compared to the feeling of dread that was slowly building in his hollow chest. He coughed a few times and crawled over to where Watson was still lying, his body wracked with the tremors of his unsteady breathing. Blood was already starting to pool underneath him, despite the gore covered hands that were folded atop the gaping stomach wound.

"H-Holmes, g-go," Watson stuttered past his gasping breath.

"Let me tend to you first," Holmes said softly, shrugging out of his remaining vest and pressing it up against the wound.

Watson used this opportunity to grasp Holmes' hand with his own bloody one, forcing his attention. "H-Holmes, go save Miss Adler. Leave me."

"I can't lose you," Holmes said tightly, "not when I just got you back."

Watson chuckled through a grimace of pain. "She's the only one you have ever loved. D-don't l-let her slip away. Love is so rare a gift."

"And what of your love?" Holmes snapped. "What of Mary?"

"She knows." Watson coughed weakly. "I would not for the world take this opportunity from you."

"You sentimental idiot," Holmes growled.

"Selfish b-bastard."

"I know," Holmes whispered. For once in his life, if he hadn't been selfish and insisted, nay _begged _Watson to come on this case with him, they surely would not be in this predicament at all.

"Then for once, don't be selfish Holmes, and do what I ask," Watson said, his voice growing softer still.

Holmes closed his eyes, nostrils flaring as he tried to regain his breath. He opened his eyes and fixated them upon the crystal blue ones of his friend. "If you ask John, I will go. I can deny you nothing."

"Then go and s-save the day," Watson said, grinning broadly.

"That will depend on how much time I have until the ritual," Holmes said, hand automatically reaching for his waistcoat pocket before he realized that it was still at the bottom of the Thames where he had thrown it off, along with his watch, in his haste to swim to Watson on the boat. He cursed himself, suddenly irrationally angry at the loss.

Watson nudged his hand. "Take mine."

Holmes nodded and took the watch being gently pressed into his hand. He stood, taking one last look at his friend. "People will have heard the explosion. They will be here any moment. I will come for you when I am finished."

"Of course. Goodbye Holmes."

"Goodbye Watson."

Holmes turned and raced away, effectively hiding his tears.

~*~

Several hours later with fifteen accomplices apprehended and this time a most assuredly dead Lord Blackford—his head had been cut off and Holmes would be very surprised if he managed to regenerate that—Holmes mounted the marble steps to where Irene Adler had been tied as a sacrifice. With infinite gentleness, he undid the cruelly tied knots and rubbed his thumbs over the abused skin. No sooner had he done so when Irene had thrown her arms about him.

"I knew you would come for me. Even though I knew I wasn't going to die, I knew then, in that moment, that I loved you."

Then she leaned in and kissed him with the passion she had not dared to show earlier. Holmes allowed it, but did not reciprocate and was soon turning away from her embrace. She was shocked and a little hurt, but Irene Adler was much stronger than any average woman.

"You have my heart, Sherlock," she assured.

Holmes stared down at the watch that lay in his hand, the inscription of H.W. still covered in dried blood. "But at what cost? What price did I pay?"

Irene Adler then knew that whatever love they could have had was either lost or broken, that somehow whatever capacity for love Holmes had had before was now gone.

The death of love occurred twice that day.

And in the end, Holmes was alone and he couldn't help thinking he liked it better that way.


End file.
